


time turned

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Time Travel, Troll Romance (Homestuck)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22254667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: It's almost a little too easy to find the loves of your life when time travel's an option on the table.
Relationships: The Condesce/The Handmaid (Homestuck), The Condesce/The Handmaid/The Psiioniic | The Helmsman, The Handmaid/The Psiioniic | The Helmsman
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12
Collections: Polyswap Winter Promptfest - Dusk Edition





	time turned

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [GlassesBlu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassesBlu/pseuds/GlassesBlu) in the [Polyswap_Winter_Promptfest_Dusk_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Polyswap_Winter_Promptfest_Dusk_2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Psi/Condy one sided any quadrant?  
> Condy/Handmaid pitch but you can also time shenanigans as well with multiple quadrants  
> Psi/Handmaid very pale but also palepitch? Time shenanigans welcome as well
> 
> They're all old and angry, I love then

You structure your approach to them very differently, operating on the notion that they are not how they are for any particular reason but a multitude of little ones, rolling together in an unspeakable, unending, avalanche of personality.

Also, you can time travel, and you'd met them at several different ages (so many different versions) before you picked who of them you wanted to settle down with, for a given value of "who" and "settle".

There is fire in them when they are younger, the kind that razes whole civilizations to the ground and digs through the ashes for meaning in her; the kind that sweeps up a heart or spade for him, and you decide quickly that you have had more than enough of fire to last you a lifetime. You want them settled in themselves, sturdy and reliable, sure of what they've built.

It is not hard for you to find what you want; it has never been difficult for you to know the whens you need and where to find them.

It is immeasurably hard for you to get it right: Your particular quirk of leaping easily through time means that you must leave something of yourself behind with them until you are ready to find them again, and you are certain that not all of their memories will go well with age.

As it turns out, you are wrong: May it be the patience of the seas, may it be the slow growing rumble of a thunderstorm, may it be something _good_ —you are wrong.

They folded what you had given them into their pushers, held fast to it through the sweeps, and when you come back, they are ready to want you again. She's pitch for you, as much as you're pitch for her, and you strike a balance between pitch and pale with him in the equal measures the two of you had once thought to be impossible.

(she whispers to you, one bright day, that she wishes he would love her. you distract her with something instead of telling her that you know he never will, that the truth of it will dawn on her somenight, and that part of you wishes it never will even when you'd seen that it had.)

You make time for them, though it turns out to be a more difficult promise than you had anticipated it being: Even if you have all the time in the world to visit, your life continues on in its own straight line, and you have other duties you must attend to, sometimes. There are momentous times to visit, portentous trolls to oversee, and general devilry to be done for the amusement of all (mostly yourself, but they both laugh when you tell them about it, so you've decided that it's for the good of all), and you don't always have the chance to see them when you want to.

When being relative, again—they are momentous, they are portentous, and they do tend to have a good degree of devilry following in their wake, enough that you see them-as-they-were, time and time again. It's wonderful, in certain ways: You develop a new hobby of relaying all the stupid things they did in their youths to their adult selves, freshly pressed into your memories, and watching in glee as they groan and whine and bitch about everything idiotic they've ever done.

This, you've decided, is perfect. This is the when you'd want to retire to, if retirement were an option for you, when your bones creaked as much as theirs, when you were old and grey.

This, you've discovered, is where your heart will always be.

**Author's Note:**

> this went in a hell of a direction
> 
> I blame the ancestors, writing about them always makes me Super Emotional


End file.
